Falling Into Fall

I woke up this morning to a chilly 40-something degrees! Winter has begun to tease us this week in Texas, with cold nights and cool days. The night time sky holds that crisp, clear, extra-vibrant quality that is Fall's blessing; the Moon and Stars seem to shine extra brightly this time of year. We are nearly halfway to our Winter Solstice or Yule, when the light of day begins to grow again following the longer periods of darkness brought by Fall. Yule signals the transition from longer nights to longer days, but we can't celebrate the growing light just yet! For we are still easing our way deep into the darkest part of the Fall season. 

This is the time of year to complete the last of your Summer harvesting, drawing in and tidying up anything left undone. This period of Mid-Fall opens a gateway to the cycle of endings or death, yet this is not to be feared. Rather, death creates the space for new crops to be planted and new life to emerge. This is the death of Summer, yet it brings life to Fall, a time of reflection, gratitude and a deepening into the Self.

Many traditions believe that there is a thinning of the veils between the realms of reality from October 30th to November 2nd, allowing us to connect with the dead more easily. As we make our way past Halloween, traditionally known as Samhain, we take time to honor the passing of all things, including our Summer crops. They have been harvested and what remains is mulched back into the soils to nourish them for a future harvest.  We can use this energetic metaphor to clear, transform and nourish our inner Being during this transitional time. 

Samhain was turned into All Saint's Day by the Roman Catholic leaders, yet it is based in ancient traditions that are about honoring our ancestral lineage and remembering our place in the progression of life. It brings an opportunity to honor many things: the birth-life-death cycle of all things; the death of our crops that provide our bounty and that provide the nourishment for next year's crops; our ancestors and beloveds who have died, whose wisdom we carry forward; and the births and deaths that we experience every day as we make our way through life. It is a time of deep, internal reflection on the past year, and a time to honor the part of our Humanity that is inescapable: Death. 

The costuming and mask-wearing of our modern-day Halloween began as a way of warding off or tricking away The Angel of Death as It passed over our homes during the thinning of the veils. "Trick or Treat?" was a question to the Angel of Death: "Must I do a trick or give a treat to avoid your cold touch?" Samhain offers an opportunity to recognize that The Angel of Death is a gift-giver of transformation, hope and new life. The spaciousness created by her touch allows us to stay present, to honor all we experience in our lives, and to clean out the parts of us that have run their course so we can move forward into even greater places of Being. Without the spaciousness that "death" brings, we might crumble under the heaviness of all the old baggage we tend to collect and carry.

Each year for Samhain I create a Dia de los Muertos altar at my home to honor my ancestors and beloveds who have died. This is an ancient tradition out of Mexico (and across cultures) that culminates in beautiful celebrations and ceremonies between November 1st and 2nd. In the Mexican tradition, items are placed on home altars and grave sites to entice the dead to visit during the thinning of the veils. Favorite foods and beverages are cooked, offered and consumed; specific flowers and candles are used along with incense; stories, dancing and special prayers are shared; there is laughter and tears... It is a two-day, all-out celebration of their beloved dead. And it is a beautiful way to honor all that their beloveds brought into the world. 

I look forward to creating my Dia de los Muertos altar each year and have had some powerful healing experiences with it. This year I added my beloved dog Maia to my altar. Her bowl, collar, bandanna and favorite treat - a dried pig snout - are on the altar, along with a picture of her looking fully content on her bed, snuggled up with two new toys. Each time I pass the altar, I feel held, loved and connected to all things in a deeper, more intimate way, and my heart is filled with gratitude for all of my ancestors and beloveds. This ritual provides a rich and personal experience for Samhain that anchors me to the birth-life-death cycle of all things in a more intimate way. 

Come Thanksgiving, we take time with family and friends to celebrate and share our Fall harvest by more fully enjoying the bounty of our crops. Many people begin their holiday gift shopping soon. Gift wrapping in preparation for Yule is another way of "wrapping up" Fall's loose ends with boxes and bows, and acknowledging our bounty. This is the time of year to recognize that there is enough abundance for everyone to enjoy through the shortest, darkest and coldest days of Fall. 

As the seasonal wheel continues to turn and the days continue to shorten into a cold darkness, we descend even more deeply into our psyches. We can use this time to contemplate our journey and drop more fully into our Beings to rest, refill and prepare for the returning of the light. This inward turning is a necessary part of our forward movement. Aligning ourselves with the natural rhythm of Fall allows us to rest and prepare for the heightened activity that Winter Solstice heralds as Spring approaches and the light of day begins to grow again. Once we cross Winter Solstice in late December, we begin gearing ourselves up for a worthy Spring planting. Without the period of harvesting and honoring what was, as well as the restful contemplation that late Fall offers, we might feel unprepared for this important planting season. 

Make time between now and Yule (December 22nd) to acknowledge the road you have traveled this year, paved by all those who walked it before you, and cleared even more by your own footsteps for all those who will walk it after you. Bring presence to the now while holding your past and future with respect and curiosity. Honor the balance of the dark and the light, of life and death, recognizing that they are but two necessary sides of the same face. Descend out of the busyness of Summer and into the depths of Fall to enjoy your harvest with gratitude and love in your heart.

Today, I celebrate the legacy and lineage that went before me; I honor my current place in the line; and I make time to deepen into what my next steps might be so that come Spring, I am ready to dig into restored soils and plant new seeds for the future. What a ride :)

Tree Teachers

Sycamore Tree. Copyright 2011

There's something magical about the coolness of the morning when the sun is just beginning to rise and the birds are singing wildly into the air from all directions. It's mid-June in Central Texas; summer will officially begin in two weeks and we are in extreme drought conditions, which makes the coolness of the mornings these days extra special. When I checked our thermometer Friday afternoon, it read 108º! I doubt that's what the weather guy will say but that's what our meter read.

 As I sat quietly with the world waking up around me, my attention was drawn to the large Sycamore trees in our backyard. I noticed some of their leaves turning colors and every once in a while, one of them would let go, gracefully finding it's way to the ground. Sycamore trees naturally shed their outer bark toward the top limbs yet the lower areas are also shedding right now, an unusual happening. It is clear they are stressed from lack of water and high heat.

For just a moment I felt bad for them and then it dawned on me: "The trees don't have a story about what's happening; they are simply doing what's needed to survive: dropping leaves to surrender anything requiring excess energy, and shedding bark to take in more nutrients however they can. They aren't afraid or questioning what's happening. They live as fully today as they ever have. Whether they'll die tomorrow is not relevant; they are focused on surviving and living fully in this moment. They are simply be-ing... or tree-ing."

What a great teacher they are for me. During these times of rapid movement and change, they gently remind me not to be afraid, question or make up a story about what's happening; not to worry about an unknown future. All I have to do is live fully in each moment, present and trusting the process to lead me to the next step, whatever that may be. Maybe it will be more life; maybe it will be death. It doesn't matter; it's all part of the natural cycle and rhythm of things. Neither is better or worse; just different.

So today I'm focusing my energy on be-ing... or people-ing, or Cecilia-ing...

Priscilla & The Way

Meet "Priscilla." Priscilla is a beautiful garden spider that set up house on the back  of my office wall outside. She has been there (to my noticing) for about a month. When I first saw her, she was big and vibrant, sitting in the center of a large, intricate web design. When I introduced myself to her, she shared that her name was "Priscilla," adding quite clearly that she was in no way prissy.

Beneath the roof above her was a large round egg sack. A few days later, a second egg sack appeared. I figure she must be pretty stout to create not one but two egg sacks... Priscilla stayed just below the sacks for weeks, diligently rebuilding her web whenever it got damaged. Then about a week ago she relocated herself around the corner of the building, leaving her egg sacks well sheltered and protected.

This week, I watched her slowly fade. Her body went from full and vibrant to shriveled, dull, and dark. Knowing that she was dying, I spoke to her daily, reassuring her that her egg sacks were healthy and safe, and that I would make sure they survived until birth.

Yesterday when I visited Priscilla, she looked and felt very weak in her web. An hour later, she abandoned her web for a single thread which she hoisted herself up onto. She clung there, weakly, for maybe half an hour until she dropped to the ground, nearly lifeless. I took the liberty of picking her up, showing her the safe, healthy egg sacks one last time, and placing her among flowers and greenery in my garden beneath my office window for her final rest.

Priscilla reminded me of the beauty and power of The Way. All things arise from the infinite field of energy, exist for a period of time, and then dissolve away again, having left something behind for those remaining. Although we grieve the surrendering, it is a gift and an integral part of the cycle of all things. Without the shedding of what's served it's purpose and expired, there would be no space or nourishment for the new to arise.

I am reminded of my own tiny deaths each day - the parts of me that I surrender for new parts to be born. From Priscilla's death will come hundreds of baby spiders! I am watching anxiously and excitedly for them to appear from their healthy egg sacks, and am wondering with as much excitement about what will arise in my own life from my upcoming death.

For in just 11 days, another cycle of my life will unfold: I will die and be reborn, free of what no longer serves my highest good and my ability to be of service to the Divine. This is the end of a conscious year of living and life - the end of my A Year To Live adventure. What is beyond it, I don't  know. That's the mystery of the other side: we don't know until we're there.

If you want to take a peek to the other side, consider joining me for a fun and full Dia de los Muertos workshop (http://www.myinnerscapes.com/workshops/) on November 29th, perfectly timed when the veils are thinnest. Learn about the special energy of Day of the Dead, glimpse into the other realm through a psychic medium, make objects for your own altar, and leave with a fun goodies bag to get you in the spirit.

Death is not our enemy but our ally. Celebrate The Way!

Moon Walk

Thursday night I walked my favorite labyrinth under the full moon. I've been visiting this particular labyrinth for maybe 12 years. The stones it is made up of are white and they glow in the moonlight, giving a magical feel to the place and space, especially on a clear full moon night.

As I enter my last month to live on this "A Year To Live" adventure, things are becoming extra poignant. Walking around the labyrinth between the darkened shadows cast by oak trees and the clear white light cast by Grandmother Moon, I experienced in a very concrete way how light exists within shadows and shadows exist within light. There is no separation; the two exist among each other in a beautiful balance of light and dark. Without both, who would really know either one?

I think my experience with this balance was in answer to an intent I sent out to Grandmother Moon before walking the labyrinth: "I ask for your support in releasing any and all attachment or resistance I have to the suffering of myself or anyone and anything else." While dancing among the light and the shadows cast by the trees and the moon, I realized - I felt - that it is all a perfect balance of energies and that both are necessary; both are a part of life and living. Without both, there would be no wholeness or balance.

Following the path to the center, there were moments when my shadow was cast directly in front of me - just like a person - a body double. I connected with this shadowy body double of me and held her as the residue of me that will remain in this physical plane after I'm dead. There she was, a mere shadow of what used to be me; a footprint; a reflection of my energy; neutral space where I once was; someone's fading memories. "How long will she remain?" I wondered, "How long will I be remembered and in what ways?"

I got to thinking about who I am, really. "Am I me or is that shadow the real me? Who is the me that people will remember? Who do I want them to remember and why? What am I leaving behind in my wake?" In one generation or less, any memory of me can be completely erased, my life here dissolved. Every adventure, every experience, every breath completely erased - my existence here forgotten, irrelevant history...

What I realized is that this journey is not about bringing all the things in my life to completion before I die - all the relationships, projects, paper work, teachings, etc. It is about bringing ME to completion before I die. "How much of what keeps me separate from love and divinity can I surrender and release before I die? Because what's left is the real me."

Yes: How much?

Today is a great day to live!

Huh - interesting: As I changed the count on my "Days Ahead" this morning, I found myself adding 8 days! What happened? I've been changing the count every day this week, one day at a time. How did I rob myself of 9 days yesterday? Or, how did I manifest 8 days today??

I don't know, but I'll take them :)

Things are shifting quickly and I'm doing my best to stay with it and follow what arises each day. Today I spotted the twin fawns in our front yard sleeping near their Mom in the wee morning hours. It felt good to feel them there, trusting and resting into the predawn calm.

And today I submitted a job application for a full-time 9 to 5 job. Wow - I haven't had one of those in years! The job sounds compelling though busy, and the pay is good. It could help stabilize some financial goals in my life, what's left of it anyway.

And today I prepared a package of information to take to one of my health care providers who requested a copy of my book - AD/HD Generation: Holistic Ways to Support Children - for their reception area. I signed the book and got bookmarks and business cards ready to send with it. It's an office that works with women and families, so parents are always sitting in the waiting room before appointments. I love the idea of them scanning through my book as they wait!

And today I'm finalizing materials for the Kundalini Yoga workshops I'm offering with the Texas Yoga Retreat at Barsana Dham this weekend. It's going to be amazing; I can already feel the energy of the space and the people. My body is completely tuned in to the energy of what I'm offering and it is (I am)  ready to go!

Today I am grateful. I am grateful for everything that Spirit is asking me to express in the world in support of our healing and expansion. And today, I have 128 more days to live!

Gifts from Angels

This little fawn was born in our yard yesterday morning. She followed Momma from the back field to the front yard and got tired. Momma parked the little tot in one of our flower beds, sheltered by a small Salvia bush, and then went about her business. She was gone for hours.

The fawn hardly moved and was fairly well camouflaged by the bush. She rested there all day before the Momma retrieved her in the late afternoon. At one point, we put a water bowl near her and she scampered off a few feet to a new spot at the foot of the Tiger Irises. I got a clear picture of her there...  adorable! I named her "Angel."

This fawn is such a great reminder of the natural cycle of all things: they arise, exist, and fall away again at some point. Everything obeys this law; nothing is immune to it... except our Essence. 

As this precious fawn was born into the physical realm, it obeyed this cycle, arising from Essence into physical existence. When my body takes its last breath here, "I" will fall away from physical existence and into Essence, also obeying this cycle. It is an infinite cycle, and I'm grateful for it. 

Check the message on the clay pot in the flower bed; how perfect. The Angel of Death is an Angel, after all. What she brings us is a gift, one of the grandest: true freedom.  

A Teacher Commeth

Sunday morning when I awoke, I peered out into our back acre and saw "our" Momma deer with her precious spotty-skinned twins and another female deer. We've been watching them grow up all season, keeping them well fed with high protein pellets and chicken scratch, and keeping plenty of water in their bucket.

As I watched the babies frolic about in the field, I glimpsed something else moving amongst them. It was keeping a low profile, slipping through the tall grasses and nearby brush. Finally, it showed itself: it was a beautiful fox. Its face was white and its eyes were outlined in thick black lines making them stand out as if it were dolled up for an evening out on the town. Its tail was thick with red and black fur; its body was a smooth blend of brown, beige, and black fur. This fox was an absolute beauty.

The deer weren't too concerned with it; the adults continued to eat and the babies continued to play, yet they all seemed to keep half-an-eye on it. The fox didn't seem interested in the deer at all. It was roaming through the grasses and brush as if looking for something, yet I'm not sure what. That might explain where the chickens went; there was a Momma hen with five chicks out there until about a week ago...

I walked out there to put some protein feed and chicken scratch down for the deer, and added some dry dog food for the fox, though I think the deer ate it all anyway. As I was putting out the feed, several adult deer (two young bucks with small, fuzzy antlers; two pregnant females; and a number of does) emerged from our bamboo forest and stood before me, staring, waiting. A couple of the more brave ones approached and began to eat while I was still pouring feed into small piles about the bare patches of dirt in our field. Once I moved into our nearby shed, the rest approached and all of them ate in silence for several minutes, completely engaged in their munching.

When the deer finished their meal and retreated once again to the cool shade and dense coverage of our bamboo forest, the fox appeared in the open field looking for leftovers. It was as if she'd just teleported herself to that spot; one minute the field was empty, the next minute she was there, sniffing about. I'm not sure she found any chow but I was heartily impressed with her ability to hide herself as she moved. Before I knew it, she was hidden again in the nearby brush...sly as a fox.

I don't know if she'll stick around and I'm not sure I want her to. Our cats might not appreciate that either. In fact, I went looking for the smallest of our two cats after I lost sight of the fox, having seen our bigger cat already that morning. As I scanned our yard for her, it occurred to me that the fox just might have eaten her for supper that night, although she is a fabulous hunter and climber herself, and generally easily eludes any predators.

I was surprised to notice that as much as I love my precious "Tooter" cat, the thought of her becoming fox food did not disturb me as much as it once would have. "Hmmm. That's odd," I thought, "Something like that would have set me into a panic before." As I looked about the yard, I imagined that I might find signs of her carcass there, so I prepared myself for such a discovery; yet I was not upset by the thought. What arose for me instead was, "Well, that's the natural cycle of things. A fox has got to eat!" And I knew that my little Tooter would have given that fox a run for its money, so that if in the end she'd "lost" the chase, she would have done so with vigor, pride, and honor. What an amazing role model for this journey - to live with all the fullness you can muster up to your very last breath...

I'm not sure why this beauty showed up in our yard Sunday, yet I am grateful for it. This fox showed me three things: First, how far I've come on this journey with Lady Death, as the thought of losing what I love no longer distresses me to the degree that it once did;

Second, how comfortable I'm becoming with the natural flow and cycle of things - that infinite rhythm of arising, existing, and falling away again;

And third, how unattached I can hold to the things in my life - even those things that I love with all my heart - unattached, yet fully committed and in deep, intimate relationship with them. That's a good thing, I think. It's something I've been striving for... to live with 100% passion and commitment to the gifts in my life, yet with 0% attachment to any of it. This beautiful fox gave me an opportunity to see how important that is, and how natural it feels, too. My body can feel the fluidity of and freedom from such a rhythm, though at times, part of me still wants to rebel against the letting go. Anymore, I ultimately pull in tremendous gratitude for those things that come and go from my life, for all of them are powerful teachers if I invite them to be.

And so this adventure though A Year To Live continues to roll forward, leaving me with only a few more months to learn and prepare for my very last breath.
 
Will I be able to live with all the fullness I can muster right up until that last breath releases my body?

Wild Onions & Fire Walks

Last night, the Toltec Center of Creative Intent offered a public fire walk in Austin. I didn't go because I spent my day having my own private fire walk at home....

You see, there's this BIG patch of wild onions growing in my backyard and in the past few years, they've begun to take over. They started to pop up everywhere. Have you ever tried to pick one? Their roots and onion bulbs rest 5-8 inches below the surface of the ground, while their stems and leaves sprout up to heights of 12+ inches above the ground. They are a challenge to retrieve, especially without leaving one of the "baby bulbs" behind to reproduce with wild abandon. Their roots cling to the soil like a leech on the skin. Their stems are hearty, yet their roots are even heartier; so when you tug on what seems to be a thick, solid stem, it breaks off at the bulb, out-muscled by the strength of the roots. Hmmm... a nice survival trick of nature.

So, I didn't arise yesterday morning with any desire or plan to pull up all those wild onions; I wanted to spend the day writing. Here's what happened: One moment I was sitting at the kitchen table, warm and dry, enjoying the birds and a hot cup of coffee; the next moment I found myself outside in the soft, cool rain, dressed in my "dirty jobs" garb, wheelbarrow and tools by my side, contemplating the wild onions. It was like my life movie skipped a frame or two, or fast-forwarded itself. What a strange sensation...just like a fire walk: You don't think about what's happening, you feel it instead; you feel the movement, and you go!

Anyway, I started with the smaller, rogue patches of wild onions scattered about the yard (and a few easy-to-retrieve bullnettle weeds) with our new handy-dandy weed-remover tool-thingy. I wanted to feel some success and gain some confidence before tackling the BIG onion patch. The tool worked great on the bullnettle; it didn't TOUCH the onions.

"Hmmm. Now what? I know: try the hand shovel." OK - that worked great on the smaller onions; not so great on the larger ones. In fact, about 25 minutes later, I broke the handle off the hand shovel trying to prey one of the onion's roots out of the ground. "Damn. That's no good." I stopped, took a breath, and contemplated my task again. "Damn, that's a lot of onions! This could take all day. I'm not sure I have the stamina to get it all done. What am I missing here? What needs to happen next?" And so, my own personal fire walk began.

I clarified my intent: "I want to get these wild onions out of the yard. I want it to be as easy as possible. I want to finish the job today. I want to surprise my sweetie."

I asked: "What needs to happen next?" and then I felt into that question with my heart rather than thinking into it with my mind. "Ah - I need the wild onions to cooperate. How do I get their cooperation?"

I came up with a plan: "I know! I'll have a little talk with them. I'll tell them that this is not their ending; it's just a relocation and a transformation. I'll use them as compost for the veggie garden I want to build this fall. I'll let them know that they have little purpose where they are, and that I am creating a new, higher purpose for them as food for the new garden (just like I will be one day - my body returning to the garden of the Earth). I'll let them know that their whole family must relocate together." Then, I set up the tarp where they would rest until it was time to build the garden beneath it.

And so I began (or continued) the job. Every time I stuck my (now large, narrow-bladed, nearly tall as me) shovel into the dirt around one of the wild onion bunches, I said aloud with excitement and passion in my heart: "Food for the new garden!" I thanked the compliant ones with love, and I talked encouragingly to the resistant ones, lovingly and (as it got later, somewhat pleadingly) asking for their compliance too. I reminded them (and myself) that this was not an ending, but a transformation, and that it would be easier if they just surrendered to it. I offered that I, too, would go through my own transformation one day.

It worked! Five labor-filled hours later, the wild onions were all resting in their new home on the tarp, preparing for their new job, and marking the spot of the new veggie garden. My heart was happy and full at the thought of my success, the planned veggie garden, the open yard space, and my sweetie's surprise later.

Reflecting on my "dirty job" morning, I realized that I had just completed my own personal fire walk: I saw the task before me; I felt the block; I set my intent; I stepped into my heart; I listened; I held my intent fully in my being; I acted.... Beautiful! The job pushed me to my edge for certain, and physically, a bit beyond my edge. But the wild onions tamed themselves when I opened my heart in collaboration rather than defiance. It was a great lesson and a wonderful experience, well worth the shovel-stomping bruises on the bottoms of my feet that remind me of how good it feels to successfully "walk through the fire."

©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

A little love

Last Thursday afternoon, I felt a cold enter my body and settle in my head just enough for me to notice its presence. It was subtle, as if it was trying to sneak up on me. I began some offensive maneuvering, but it  took hold of me anyway by Friday afternoon. I spent the weekend feeling spacey and tired from the cold that filled my nose and brain with snot. I was pretty useless all weekend, bored with TV yet not having the energy to do much else but stare at it.

There were moments when I thought, "Great. I'm wasting two whole days because of this cold! I should get up and do something anyway." Yet, I didn't have the energy, so I didn't really do anything but lay around and eat every once in a while. I felt my body tighten at the lack of motion. I'd get up and stretch and move every so often; and then I'd slide back down onto the couch again with a big sigh and drift into the dullness of TV. But I was aware that I really couldn't do much else. I was too stuffy to sleep; too hot to snuggle under blankets; too dopey to read; too tired to go outside; and too numb to care.

I learned that rest was best for me those two days; the body would not have allowed for anything else anyway. So I caved in and allowed myself to do a whole-lot-a-nothin'. Part of me was irritated; part of me was relieved; part of me was really, really bored! And part of me was aware that I had just had a big week energetically, holding more than I have held in a long while. I'm wondering if part of me got "sick" to allow for a break and some rest, or maybe just in rebellion; but I'm not sure. I was fine moving through the week, and even jazzed by the flow and all the energy. It felt good! I was not conscious of a need for more rest than I gave myself, but I have taken note, and am exploring what else may have been linked to the "forced down time." Resistance in getting bigger? Fear? Lack of energetic balance? Or maybe sometimes a cold is just a cold. I'm still dissecting it.

Every so often over the weekend, I'd search around my A Year To Live "room" to see how it felt to basically "skip" two whole days of living, yet I found very little. It seemed just fine to do nothing. I find that odd on one level, and perfectly understandable on another: Odd because my time feels so limited; understandable because I was home with my sweetie, being pampered and loved and lazy... and that felt good. It was nice, despite feeling like dinosaur doo-doo.

Who'd a thought that feeling so bad could still feel so good with a little love on top? Maybe my death will be like that. Even if it's uncomfortable, maybe with a little love on top, it'll feel OK...

©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

Tick-Tock goes the clock

Just about every day, I sign onto my blog and change the count, adding one day to "DAYS BEHIND" and subtracting one day from "DAYS AHEAD." I could have put in an auto-counter, but I chose to do it manually so that I can very consciously attend to the movement of time during this Year To Live. And it's working. Every time I change the count, raising one number and lowering the other, I am acutely aware of time's passage from being before me to being behind me....

How strange it feels to be counting down my time here! Each time I change the numbers, I feel the energetic shift in my body as the "BEHIND" number grows and the "AHEAD" number shrinks.  "One more day gone," I think to myself, "What did I do with it? Am I happy with it? Is there something I might shift today?"


There are so many things calling for my attention and energy. Each one is as important to me as the others: writing, cleaning, walking, teaching yoga, connecting with friends and family, emailing, spiritual practices, cooking, eating, sleeping, playing, seeing clients, reading, sitting in the sun, watching the rain, sharing a movie with my sweetie, taking care of household projects, etc.... How do I choose?

In the end, it won't be so much how I SPENT my time during these final months, but how I HELD the time I spent in them. What I realize is that no matter what I do, it's how I hold it energetically that matters most. Each moment is an opportunity for something to blossom, heal, evolve, dissolve... I have little idea how each moment interconnects with all the others from before or after it; yet, I sense that it does somehow, on some level, intersect with the whole of time, and have an impact that is much more expansive than what I can hold in my own awareness. This sense makes each moment super valuable in my heart.

When I reflect back on these months during my final moments - as the clock ticks down to the final minute and second of this Year To Live - what will I feel? What do I want to feel? Now is the time for me to seed that feeling...is it not?


©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

Life and Death

I recently heard from a dear friend that her sister tried to commit suicide with an overdose of prescriptions and alcohol. I thought, "She's ready for her life to change. Now she just needs some support in choosing how she wants it to change: through death, or through shifting the flavor of her life. The decision is solely hers; her life is ultimately her responsibility."

How ironic it feels to me that we - her sister and I - are both seeking change in our lives. We both want our lives to have a different flavor or quality than they do. We both recognize on some level that we are ultimately responsible for that: we must make the choices that pave the course of our lives. We both want to enjoy our lives more. We both want a way out of or past what no longer serves us. She sought relief from her feelings in death; I sought relief from my feelings through death...

The Angel of Death - and she is an Angel -  is a powerful teacher. She is an Angel because she is a messenger, just as all Divine children are. She is a messenger of the Highest Power, Source, Spirit, Creator, Life Force, or God; use whatever name you want for It. Her message is that life here is temporary; we humans are impermanent beings in this realm. Whenever and however it happens, I will die to this Earthly body - we all will - and transform into another state... energetic perhaps? I cannot know for certain. I can only feel about it what I feel, and choose to believe about it what I believe.

For me, this A Year To Live journey is a way of exploring life on a deeper level by exploring death on a deeper level. It's a reminder of my temporary state here, which brings life into more focus by broadening my perspective and opening my heart. I am choosing to observe more closely the life of death that exists here in every moment, in every breath; and to appreciate the opportunity I have here to create my life anew through each of those moments and breaths, right here in this physical, temporary state of being. It is a powerful place to be; I can create - through my choices - something different in each moment... yes!

The key is to surrender and allow the unfolding of my choices and actions to happen as they will, recognizing that there is much more happening than I can be fully aware of because it is all energy moving, and energy is dynamic and not completely predictable. All I can do is do what I do with awareness, intent, and integrity; and then I can take responsibility for my choices as they unfold. I can observe what happens and then make my next choice. It is not all in my control; nor is it all out of my control. This life - my life - is an act of co-creation between my choice-making and energy's fluidity. The Angel of Death gifts me with the opportunity to make my choices more consciously and from a place of openness and love rather than constriction and fear.

Maybe that's the difference between seeking peace in death and seeking peace through death...


©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

A Waste - Part 1

The other day, I watched my cat eat a bird she'd caught: "Wow!" I thought, "That bird didn't know it was in its last moments of life...until it was." And I wondered what the bird's experience was like, and how it might be the same or different from my own. I felt happy that at least the bird brought my cat some play in her instinctual self and filled her belly so its death was not a waste. And then I thanked the beautiful bird for it's role in the cycle - The Way.

Then I thought about my own role in The Way, and wondered how many days I had left : 284, but that was two days ago...


©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

Lady Death

Death happens. It's a part of the natural cycle, what some Native Americans call "The Way." Things arise, exist, and then fall away again. I wrote about that in my last blog.

At the start of this journey, in my journal I wrote: "I hear a bird, a car, some dishes clanking in the kitchen...signs of life all around me. My presence here in this moment is inconsequential. I am a silent observer and yet a full participant. Yellow leaves flutter gently to the ground, surrendering to Fall and their own tiny death, as I will soon. In its day, each leaf is spectacular and "makes the tree;" today those leaves are inconsequential, silent observers yet fully participating... like me. Will it be that easy - that gentle - for me? Will I - when it is my time to surrender - be just as silent, just as graceful, just as willing as these leaves? They sprout, and blossom, and live fully, and wilt, and die fully...as I will."

What I've come to is that life - and me as a part of it - is fragile and temporary: fragile because we often don't know when it's time for us to fall away again until we are looking Lady Death in the eyes; and temporary because we all look Lady Death in the eyes... no one and nothing escapes her reach. Well, that's not exactly what I believe...

Remember in "The Dying," I quoted Levine writing about our essence, or essential nature: "Remember that the ever-present luminosity into which our ever-impermanent density dissolves is the light of awareness by which consciousness is seen, our essential nature which never dies." TRANSLATION: Remember that our physical-ness is temporary and at some point will dissolve into the permanent energy from which it was born. That permanent energy is infinite; it has no beginning and no end. It is not, however, empty; it is embedded with awareness.  Awareness is part of what gives rise to our  consciousness when we are born into this physical life. Get it?

So, Lady Death wields the sword that puts an end to our physical experience here, but she can't touch our essential nature, no matter how far she reaches.  Somehow, I find comfort in that. So with that in mind, how can I make the most of my life while I am existing here? How can I be "spectacular and make my tree" before I fall away again? Those are the real questions behind this "A Year To Live" experience, which brings me back to New Year's Eve: Can we really find more life by feeling more death?

283 days and counting...


©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

An Ordinary Kind of Day

Today was an ordinary kind of day. Woke up, recorded anything I could recall from my dreams, fed the dog, changed clothes, and went for a long walk in an undeveloped wooded neighborhood near my home. It was cold but still – no wind - so the walk was pleasant. A dear friend joined me so it was a “chatty” walk whereas most of the others are done in silence attending to the sensory experience, or at most, chanting. It was good, though, because she gave me some good insights around something I’m frustrated by and trying to move through in a graceful way. Ah, the wisdom of an outside perspective…

I spent the afternoon running errands here and elsewhere, responding to emails, and carving out 20 minutes to have some lunch; actually, by the time I ate, it was closer to supper time. My evening was focused on teaching a kundalini yoga class for post-holiday-junk-food detoxifying…just what we all needed. And now, here I am, piled up on my sofa, dog at my feet, cats curled up in their beds beside me. Cozy is how I would describe this moment in my life.

My life… moving forward quicker than I can track it; minutes tick-tocking by invisibly, counting down my remaining time here… tick tock tick tock tick tock. This is a moment to savor, yes. I’m finding that every moment of my life is a moment to savor, even the uncomfortable ones. Like tonight – I developed a migraine before my yoga class. It was bad enough to make me nauseous. I chose to teach anyway, through the discomfort. I’ve never done that before. My migraines are usually spent piled up in bed, house dark and quiet, wet rag on my forehead, praying to fall asleep and wake up pain-free.

Yet Levine teaches to open beyond moments of discomfort and to be fully present with “what is.” He says to call it “the pain” rather than “my pain.” So I did. I taught yoga with “the pain” and “the nausea” and “the sensitivity to sound and light” rather than my, my, my discomfort. This simple practice allowed me to put some distance between what my body was experiencing and what I truly am, which is something beyond this body. It allowed me to hold the discomfort as just another sensory experience, albeit an uncomfortable one, without identifying with it. And it was a great opportunity to give my body the space to practice “allowing” through whatever sensory experience is happening, despite its flavor.

Because the question is: “How will I die?” And the answer is: “I don’t know.” I might die in a comfortable way, but I might die in an uncomfortable way. If my body has no anchor for how to move through “the discomfort” gracefully, what will it do if it’s dying in an uncomfortable way? How will it move through “the dying?”

©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.

Cave Woman

I woke up this morning feeling a bit out of sorts… “spacey” in my brain, not very focused or driven, slow-moving, wanting to “cave.” I use the term “cave” here as a verb to mean hibernate in a cave like a bear in winter; rest; slow down; be still and quiet. Winter is the season for this – for slowing down, allowing for more rest, going inward, hibernating from all the activities of life. Thanksgiving in the fall sets us up for it. We eat lots and lots of good food and give thanks for all of the blessings and abundance harvested that year. Then, we retreat into the slower pace of winter’s restful state, already stocked up on all that yumminess, not having to do much.

Winter is for contemplation, planning, and slowing down our rhythms. By nature, this is what the body craves. Yet in our culture, winter brings flurries of activity around Christmas (Yule) and New Years. I found myself wanting to be more quiet, still, contemplative, and private than usual this year. Even “keeping it simple” over the holidays was more activity than my natural self wanted. Not that I didn’t enjoy the socializing that I did; it’s just that the natural rhythm at this point in the cycle is to cave, not socialize. Yet this is the case every year, so why did it feel especially awkward this year?

One thing is that as I deepen my connection to the energetic and sensory perception and experiences I am having during this final year to live journey, my connection to the natural rhythms and cycles of life is also deepening. Levine talks about the importance of coming present with the senses in each moment, allowing the body to adapt and habituate to the act of allowing what is; so that at the moment of death, the body is used to simply allowing what is to be, and the energy body has an easier time of releasing from the physical body. At least, that’s my interpretation of it.

What I’m finding is that everything is deepening for me through this experience: “Is this really what I want to do? Is this really who and how I want to spend my time? Is this really my truth?” What’s left of my life is becoming an exercise in honesty and integrity; it’s becoming an opportunity for me to be free, for me to be “Me,” for me to drop into a different level of being that is more authentic than before. There’s no more “waiting” for whatever it is we wait for; this is it! This is the time that I have left. What do I really want to do with it?


©2010 Cecilia L. Zúñiga. A Year To Live. All Rights Reserved. Reprints, copies or reproductions of any kind must be accompanied by copyright credit line.